


Midnight Cow, Boy (93 Percent Lean)

by alakewood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alakewood/pseuds/alakewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it finally happens, Dean's just honestly surprised it hasn't happened sooner. Considering how often they're on the road and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Cow, Boy (93 Percent Lean)

When it finally happens, Dean's just honestly surprised it hasn't happened sooner. Considering how often they're on the road and all. The most surprising thing in the whole ordeal is that it's not something they're hunting and not even something as ridiculously common as a deer that smashes up the whole front end of the Impala like an accordion, shoving the engine block so far back his knees are very nearly pinned beneath the column of the steering wheel.  
  
No. It's a cow. A lowing, half-ton-of-hamburger cow, black as the moonless, overcast night, standing right in the middle of the eastbound lane of a curving two-lane highway that cuts right through some prime, verdant farmland in the middle of what Dean's 85% sure is Iowa, like it's got some kind of slaughterhouse death-wish.  
  
Wish granted.  
  
It's amazing how effective the stupid bovine is at stopping the Impala nearly-dead from a good 70-mile-an-hour, downhill sprint, but one minute he and Sam are cruising down the highway sometime around midnight, trying to make Omaha before dawn, then _BAM!_ Cow. Like hitting a freaking brick wall. The force was enough to at least shove the damn thing halfway to the shoulder, and throw Dean and Sam against their seat belts hard enough to bruise – if not break – collarbones.  
  
“What the fuck?” Sam bitches, one hand moving to rub at the back of his neck while the other prods tenderly at his clavicle like some weird exercise in coordination.  
  
“Cow.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We hit a cow.” Dean glares at Sam from his seat, legs pinched uncomfortably under the much-too-close dash, and there's no way this is going to be a cheap fix.  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
Over the ticking of the engine and the static of the radio, Dean can just barely make out the sounds of the dying animal. “You can't hear the fucking thing...mooing?”  
  
Sam tilts his head against the glass of the window, listening. “It's not dead?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“Should we call 911?”  
  
“For a fucking cow?”  
  
“What the hell else are we supposed to do?”  
  
“Fuck if I know.”  
  
It's like a goddamn circus after Sam calls 911 or the cops or animal control for all Dean knows. But there's a wrecker and big, green John Deere tractor, and two squad cars and an ambulance and nearly a dozen local-yokels standing around as the cow is put out of its misery and hauled of by the tractor of Farmer Brown.  
  
“What about my car?” Dean asks the only cop that looks like he's old enough to buy beer after he's released by a handsy EMT.  
  
The cop shines his flashlight on the smashed front end of the Impala as it's hoisted up behind the tow truck. He whistles low and Dean wants to deck him. “Jeez,” he says. “Well, looks like Butch is towin' it back to the shop. I can give you all a ride over there.”  
  
“But who's gonna _pay_ for it? That farmer is, right? It was his cow that was in the middle of the highway.”  
  
“Well,” Officer Numb Nuts says again, rubbing at his chin in thought.  
  
“His cow did the damage,” Dean reiterates. “He should have to pay for it.”  
  
“Well.” A-fucking-gain. “You did kill his cow.”  
  
“Not like I let it out and hit it on purpose.”  
  
Sam sidles up to Dean's side then, speaks some kind of legalese mumbo jumbo that has Officer Numb Nuts yes-sirring. They get escorted back into town – the first time Dean's been in the back of a squad car without handcuffs chaffing his wrists – and dropped off at Butch's Auto Repair Shop. The only nice thing Dean can say about the local LEO's is that they seem way to simple-minded to be corrupt.  
  
“You know,” Sam says, as they head towards the open garage door, “we're gonna have to call Bobby to find somebody else to take that job for us and see if he can come pick us up. If somebody opens up the trunk-”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, limping along, waving a hand at Sam.  
  
But, it turns out, Butch is full of surprises. He offers a rough, grease-stained hand to Dean. “Y'all're Winchesters, right?”  
  
Dean glances sideways at his brother. “Yeah.”  
  
“You related to John?”  
  
“He was our dad.”  
  
“Was?”  
  
“He passed away a couple years ago,” Sam says.”  
  
“Sorry to hear about that. Your daddy was a good man. I worked with him once on a job up by the Minnesota border. Took down a pack of Garmr – the Norse version of black dogs.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean questions with another glance at Sam.  
  
“Yeah,” Butch says. “Don't worry 'bout your car. I'll take good care of her. Might take me a day or two to get all the parts in, but I know some guys, so.” He rubs his hands together for a second before motioning them to follow after him. “Until then,” he starts, reaching over the counter onto the desk behind it and producing a key ring. “This is for that blue F-150 out front. There's a motel on the other side of town. I can give you a call when I've got her done.”  
  
“Yeah, okay.” Dean scrawls his cell number on the back of one of the business cards in a little stand on the counter. “Thanks, man.”  
  
Sam takes the keys from Dean once they're outside. “That was a little weird, right?”  
  
Dean's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, their dad dragged them all over the country and who knows what he got up to between the time they all went their separate ways after Sam left for Stanford and when they reunited in Chicago. “Our lives are _always_ a little weird,” Dean remarks.  
  
“Good point.”  
  
Dean climbs into the cab of the truck and shrugs to himself. At least it seems like he's not going to have to pay for the damages from the damn cow. Plus, he was about due for an oil change and now he won't have to pay for that. _And_ they'll get a couple days of downtime. If it didn't come at the expense of his beloved car, Dean would find a couple days off as cause for celebration. He's kind of torn. Not much he can do about it now. Except maybe one thing. “Hey, Sammy. How you feel about grabbing a couple burgers?”


End file.
